


Save

by Shyspyder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 6x03, 6x10, Gen, I'm new at this so please be nice to me, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, R plus L equals J, Tower of Joy, Tower of Joy scene from Howland Reed's perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 11:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyspyder/pseuds/Shyspyder
Summary: Basically the Tower of Joy scene from Howland Reed's perspective because he's awesome and I love him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks. I'm really new at this so please be nice to me. I feel like Howland Reed is never really talked about much (I mean it makes sense cuze like the dude doesn't show up in the books and is only in the show for like 3 seconds and is only mentioned a few times). So I decided to write a fic from his perspective! I'll probably write more fics about the Reeds and the Crannogmen because I find them really interesting, but I haven't really decided yet! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own game of thrones lol

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Howland Reed wiped his brow as the strong, Dornish sun beat down on the small party of men. He wasn’t used to this. This constant heat. It was during times like this in which his thoughts would wander back to the marshes back north. Where the trees blocked the mild northern sun, where the silent, still waters were broken only by the drifting of Greywater Watch. He longed to be back home. Safe with his fellow “frog-eaters” – as Robert Baratheon so kindly put them. Yet here he was – trying not to pass out as his horse lurched forward one step after another. Like most crannogmen, Howland never even imagined to venture south of the neck – much less find himself in Dorne. The crannogmen were known for being a shy, secluded people. Wary of outsiders, yet loyal when their trust is earned. And the Starks of Winterfell had earned it. Of course, the Reeds had been bannermen to the Starks for thousands of years – he would have followed them to battle regardless of his friendship with Lyanna and Ned Stark, but his willingness to travel this far down south certainly came a lot more willingly with Lady Lyanna’s life at stake.

  
As his horse drifted on, he recalled that fateful day at Harrenhal. The magnificent knights parading through the streets in their golden, gleaming armor. The way excitement sizzled through the air in every corner. And to be a part of it all…he had never been happier in his life. Gods, it felt like decades ago now. He remembered being beaten down and spat on by the squires, to be saved by a young woman with dark hair and piercing grey eyes. He would never forget how Rhaegar Targaryen lay the crown of blue winter roses on Lyanna Stark’s lap, changing the course of history forever. _Lady Lyanna Stark saved me once_ , he thought. _The least I can do to return the favor._ When Howland finally drifted away from old memories, he realized that he had fallen behind the rest of Ned Stark’s men. He urged the old Dornish mare to a slow trot, until he was side by side with Ned.

  
“I didn’t even know there were parts of the world that got this warm,” Howland said. He tried to keep his voice light. Despite the dire circumstances, his companion gave him a slight smirk.

  
“Aye, and it almost makes me long for one of those northern winters you lot go on and on about,” one of the southern men behind them complained. Ned and Howland exchanged a look and rolled their eyes.

  
As the party continued their descent through the Dornish wasteland, the light chatter had died down as the sun continued to rise higher in the sky. Howland glanced over at Ned. The northern lord was staring ahead at the approaching landscape. A tower is the distance was growing closer and closer as the hours drifted by. It wouldn’t be long now.

  
“She’s going to be fine Ned,” he said softly to the Northman. Ned’s jaw was clenched and his fists were gripping his reins tightly. _If it were Robert in that saddle, there would be a bruise on my cheekbone and my face would be the sand right now,_ Howland thought to himself. But Ned Stark was not Robert Baratheon. Ned Stark spurred his horse forward ahead of the party, his eyes never drifting away from the looming tower approaching. Howland followed his eyes to the summit of the tower. _No doubt Lyanna Stark is somewhere in that tower. Maybe she’s watching us from the top._ The thought gave Howland some comfort, however unrealistic it may be. _The chances of Lyanna being uninjured – both physically and mentally – are just as great as the chances of Lyanna –_ He had to cut himself off from his own thoughts. No. The only way Howland could ever imagine the wild and bold, yet beautiful and compassionate she-wolf was on horseback with a sword at her hip and an adventurous glint in her eye. Northern maidens weren’t meant for coffins in the sand, and every child knew that wolves never gave in without a fight.

  
The next thing Howland knew, Ned and the other riders were dismounting their horses, to meet the approaching men. He blinked in surprise when he saw who it was. The now-dead prince’s kingsguard Ser Arthur Dayne was among them. Howland had heard stories of The Sword of the Morning, how he wielded the greatsword Dawn better than any other man in the seven kingdoms. _Why wasn’t he at the battle of the Trident?_ The crannogman thought. He watched as the Knight stabbed his mighty sword into the dirt.

  
“Lord Stark,” he said. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of house Targaryan, it’s curvy body twisted of metal. He couldn’t help but let his gaze flit to the sigil for a brief second before returning his gaze to the meet the other kingsguard. Ned was watching Ser Arthur, his eyes determined and his voice only slightly curious.

  
“I looked for you at the Trident…”

  
“We weren’t there,” Arthur answered.

  
“Your friend the usurper would lie beneath the ground if we had been,” one of the kingsguard to his side piped up. Ned glanced at him for a second, then drifted his gaze back to Ser Arthur.

  
“The Mad King is dead. Rhaegar lies beneath the ground. Why weren’t you there to protect your prince?”

  
“Our prince wanted us here.”

  
Ned hesitated for a second. Glanced up again at the tower’s point before glaring again at Ser Arthur, his voice harsher.

  
“Where’s my sister?”

  
Howland would never forget Ser Arthur Dayne’s response.

  
“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” He and his fellow Kingsguard put on their helmets and Ser Arthur withdrew Dawn from the red dirt. “And now it begins.”

  
“No,” Ned replied bitterly. “Now it ends.”

  
In a split second, Howland’s vision was filled with the sight of Dawn swinging towards his face, and fear clenching in his chest. Howland knew what he was...he always knew what he was. A crannogman. Crannogmen weren’t meant to fight with swords and shields. They fought with what they knew best. Dodging between trees and hitting their enemies with poisoned arrows from treetops when they were weakest. He was no sword fighter. Howland tried to tell Ned this when he first asked him to join his party down to Dorne, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  
“It doesn’t matter,” Ned had told him. “I don’t need good fighters – there are plenty of those. I need someone loyal. Sometime I can trust.” Of course Howland joined his friend. How could he not? The Starks were one of the few who viewed the crannogmen as equals throughout this entire war. And Lyanna Stark was his friend.

  
But there was nothing Howland Reed could do when his mouth was suddenly filled with the taste of blood and sand. He sputtered and shifted his small frame, trying desperately to stand. He could hear the clanging of swords around him, and men groaning as they were cut down one after another. _I need to get up!_ He thought desperately. _I need to help Ned!_ He knew that Ned wasn’t one of the solders cut down. The man was as good of a swordsman as they come. But even he was no match against Ser Arthur Dayne. There was a reason the brave Dornish knight was chosen to wield Dawn.

  
Howland had finally managed to shakily stand up. His ragged breaths shaking his frame. Through blurry eyes, he to made sight of the two remaining fighters. He blinked a few times to clear out the blood pouring down from the cut above his brow. He recognized the dull silver-and-gold shimmer of Ser Arthur’s armor, his back facing the small crannogman. It suddenly became a thousand times easier for him to stand up when he realized that Ned was the other fighter. _He is still alive, thank the Gods._ But only just. He watched as the Sword of the Morning wrenched Ned’s sword from his hands and threw it into the dirt. Fear clenched Howland’s heart once more. He knew what he had to do. With a quick motion he pulled out the dagger he had stashed in his belt, and plunged it into the knight’s back. His teeth clenching as it sunk into flesh.

  
Howland was surprised at how easily he fell. Ser Arthur Dayne. The subject of all the songs from Oldtown to White Harbor. Looked up to by all the boys in Westeros. Even Howland, at one point. At least, until he watched the legendary knight fall to his knees in the dirt. He felt a pang of shame for the way he killed him, but he wasn’t so sure he regretted it. _I had to save Ned’s life._

  
Ned glanced up at his friend in shock, but Howland motioned towards his sword. _There would be time to talk later,_ he thought. Ned grabbed for the sword, and with one clean stroke – ended the life of Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. He paused for a moment, glancing up in astonishment at his friend.

  
Anything that Ned and Howland may have been thinking at the moment were suddenly interrupted by a piercing scream from the tower above. They both whipped around. _She’s alive._ In two quick strides, Ned raced up the stony stairs, with Howland following close behind. When he reached the top, he hesitated only for a moment. His gaze brushed across the landscape beyond the tower in a moment of distraction. After making brief eye contact with his companion, Ned finally entered the Tower of Joy. Desperate to find his sister whom he loved so very much.

  
When Howland finally reached the doorway, he stood very still, not wanting to interrupt the scene before him. Tears were prickling in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill. The she-wolf, once so fierce and strong, lay in the bed before him. Surrounded by blood. Hot, sticky, and fresh. _Did the kingsguard do this to her?_ Was his first thought. _No. They were protecting her. Rhaegar wouldn’t have assigned the best knights in the kingdom…_ Howland wouldn’t dare let his train of thought continue. He knew what had happened here. But that didn’t matter right now. Lyanna Stark was dying. And he couldn’t save her. She saved him once. Back when they were all so young. But when it mattered the most, he couldn’t save his friend.

  
Ned Stark was kneeling next to his dying sister. Leaning forward as the she-wolf whispered something softly into his ear. The tears were spilling down Howland’s face as her grip gently begin to slacken, and her eyes drifted to a close. The crannogman barely even noticed the Dornish midwife walk past him, carrying the newborn boy in her arms. The son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryan handed to Ned, wailing to life as his mother’s whispered to a close.


End file.
